


what love is

by ihatethesun1



Category: 2gether (Band), เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (TV), เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihatethesun1/pseuds/ihatethesun1
Summary: Bright discovers every facets of love through Win
Relationships: Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree & Win Metawin Opas-iamkajorn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	what love is

_Bright always knew what love is._ As a child, he encountered it as words. It came pouring out from the mouth of his pre-school teacher as one of the most important thing there is, it's what keeps the world from falling apart she continued, it's what I wanted everyone of you to have once you grow old she added, it's the foundation of happiness she ended.

 _Bright always knew what love is._ It's among the words his mom would tell him every night before going to bed or the words accompanying a scold after tending to terrible bruises every of scuffles between him and his friends. Love was also the name of his mom according to dad, and love was also his name as well as sweety, cutie, rascal, and oh no.

 _Bright always knew what love is._ He knows it taste like chocolate drink; it could be cold and hot depending on what he likes and he likes both so whenever he went grocery shopping with his mom, he knows he'll receive twice the love that day.

 _Bright was confused on what love is._ On the day a new classmate entered the small space of their room when he was in 5th grade, Bright was unsure of what love is, he was not informed that love could also be the brown irises on his new classmate's eyes nor could it be the hand that cups his before shaking it slightly, or the dimples that peek whenever his new classmate would smile. Bright did not know love could be associated to someone who's not family, and so Bright realized he does not know how different every love is.

 _Win._ He said his name was Win, a short word that doesn't need for Bright's tongue to roll in his mouth before he could utter nor a slap of his lips to mutter. Win. A single word which only requires the time to snap a finger to say, yet the familiarity it gave Bright is nowhere as short as its letters.

The name tasted like the first medal on his neck on first grade. It sounded like the claps of the crowd he hears on stage after a recitation of poems or essays or stories or songs. It looked like the crinkle on his mother's face every time she smiles or the glisten in her eyes every time she watched him eat. It felt like the pats on his back after every football game or the soft caress of grandnana on his face every time they meet. But the name doesn't have a smell, thankfully, Win does.

He smelled of fruity cologne which gave Bright the image of pink, he smelled of soil after P.E classes which painted Bright's head in brown, he smelled of sweat and the sun which colored Bright's vision with yellow, he smelled of white like the skies and green like the grass, he smelled of blue like the rain and smelled of purple every time they hug. And he smelled like red.

He smelled like red, and suddenly, love was vastly different; love could also be the laughter in between the teasing and chasing each other, love are the shouts and senseless fights over missing ball pens and crumpled test papers, love is the dust that followed their steps as they rushed to canteen, love was the hand that smacks the back of his head whenever they fight, love was the frowns and rolling of eyes before reconciling, and love was the warmth and embarrassment that seeps to his skin whenever Win caught him looking.

 _Bright always knew what love is._ Love could be a person too. And love has mouth and eyes so he could see and judge and love is loud sometimes---screeching and screaming excitedly. And love has feet so he is everywhere and he really really could be everywhere, love has arms and hands which he used for fistfights and also hugs. And in moments where everyone shouts and cheers, Bright forgets how perfect love is, because love age and it saddens Bright that it happens every year.

It was on their third year of high school that Bright knew love should not be selfish. It was prom and they did not danced or even sat together and Bright could feel the pulse on his temple beat in irritation. He watched as Win smiled and laughed with a woman in yellow and he never thought the color could be so ugly, but it is; it looks like puke, dirt, and wilted roses. And it reminded Bright of what nausea is as he watched Win's arms encased the woman's waist.

And as the night progresses, Bright danced with other people too: with soft bodies compared to what he's used to, with heights which does not need looking up to meet their eyes, with faces blotched in pink, with hushed voices and unfamiliar pitches of giggles and murmurs. He danced with all colors including black, but he never got the chance to dance with red.

It was the days that followed in which Bright noticed that Win might have discovered how the color red smelled too. And so Bright started associating the color red with anything repulsive.

 _Bright was muddled on what love is._ Love was surely not his temper or words said out of anger, love was surely not the forceful shoves or the cold-shoulder, love was surely not the _'leave me alone'_ or _'don't talk to me'_ , love was surely not the tears because love should not be sad and love should not hurt this much, and love was surely not what he feels.

But it is and Bright never thought hate and love could come together in a sentence, but it does and it fits so well that it blinded Bright for a long time. And so Bright hated love.

 _Love is unfamiliar._ Bright hated love and watched their selves grew apart, Bright hated love after noticing how his scent is diluted with another. Bright hated love and his eyes and how the side of it wrinkles when he smile for her, Bright hated love and his hands and how it plays with fingers smaller than his, Bright hated love and his hair and uniform that are crumpled every time he takes a bathroom break, Bright hated love and his lips which seems to swell every other day, Bright hated love and his feet which thumps the ground with a new rhythm, Bright hated love and how unfamiliar he is and before Bright realized it, he hated himself too for missing something that is not his.

Love are the messages beneath the unsaid sorries. They drifted apart for months, yet all it took to reconcile was a smile.

 _Love changed_. Love changed and so does Bright, in college they chose different courses and met new friends. They went to different parties, and different bars, different classes and different arms. College made Bright realized that love could be a lot of faces, and in there too where Bright admitted how love could also be the scent of another.

 _Love is soft_. Love is soft like her laughter and supple cheeks, love is soft like her skin and the white bed sheets, love is soft like her cries and tears as she gives in, love is soft like the rays of sunlight trickling in their bedroom every morning.

His old love was crying. It was a night of his fight with his new version of love and he could feel anger coursing through his veins, shouts ringing in his ears, face burning and numb, and his chest stinging from scratches and cuts. And when he entered a bar which was so familiar with him he could name every drink and spot a wrong if a drop of liquor went missing from his order, what greeted him was the shape of unfamiliarity crying.

 _Love was a mess._ Win had his hunched back and alone, his face wet with tears and snot and liquor, his eyes puffy and nose red, lips trembling and hands all over the place; from the glass to his mouth, from his mouth to his face, from his face to his hair, from his hair to his shirt, from there, his hands clutched the hem of his outerwear as if looking for strength and it is those hands that trembles ever so slightly too when Bright held it on his palms.

 _Love was time-consuming and a lot of work._ Love was the nights of reassurances and healing, love was the road trips and late night restaurants hopping, love was the liquor and cigarettes before he was coke and pizzas. Love was sad movies and all the relatable quotes that comes with it, love has the stories Bright could never get tired of hearing, love was the nights they laid in bed tired and all the imaginary constellations at the room's ceiling.

Love was a break-up due to cancelled plans. Love was a slap from soft hands and cuts from nails which used to graced only his back and chest, love was the shout in an unfamiliar pitch Bright swore he heard from prom years ago, love was an ugly grey and love is leaving because love is done and love hates him and love wishes him death and love would like to him to go fuck himself and love was cries and also the loud slam of his door.

 _Love is confusion._ It was the days when he needed movies too, not sad, but horror as he thinks a jump scare could help shoo out the cowardice in him. Love was the sad stories of drunk men as Bright nods and noticed how the liquior taste like nothing and how the nausea does not come after 7 bottles of beer. Love is how every coffee and tea does not taste bitter or astringent anymore, and how every meal looks and tastes like cottons and leaves.

 _Love was a lonely night and impulsive decisions._ Love was the small gap Win traveled to catch his lips after a drink or two, love was the breath he felt on his neck and the roll of hips, it was the thrown t-shirts and pants somewhere in the room, it was the sound of sucking and shouts of fucks, harder, shit, and oh god.

 _Love was nude._ Love is a trial and error. Love are the words of 'what just happened', 'let's make this work', and 'whatever' after the morning, it is shirts that fit snugly on whomever wore it, the 'is this my boxer or yours' after countless session of passion and heat. Love was the pancakes and hugs too at every mornings after they meet.

Love could leave. And so, love was emptiness.

Love was loud sorries and pleads, it was _'I still love her and I'm so confused because I love you too.'_ Love too was the _'Bright please, what should I do?'_ And _'Can you just be the one to let me go? I'm so sorry, I'm so selfish. I'm so sorry, I can't help it.'_

 _Love was letting go_ then destruction and emptiness all over again.

 _Love too was time._ It was the years that gone by, the graduation, the first jobs, and shitty office hours. Love was the unread messages and unanswered calls, the deleted emails and ignored regards from their common friends.

And then love was letter. A white and thin envelope with a red stamp, curve letters in gold, and pictures of couple rings engraved at the front. _Love was a wedding._

Love therefore was breakdowns and realizations of hows: how Win has the most beautiful fingers he ever held, how he could still see universe caged within Win's irises even after years at College, how he missed the taste of soft clouds on his lips, how Win smelled like bright red and pale yellow on nights of their escapades, how their heights perfectly align in bed or at the sofa or in showers or anywhere really; how their figures are made for one another, but will never go together.

_How Win were his loneliest nights for years, yet the best of his days for a lifetime._

_________________

_Bright always knew what love is. As a child, he encountered it as words. It came pouring out from the mouth of his pre-school teacher as one of the most important thing there is, it's what keeps the world from falling apart she continued, it's what I wanted everyone of you to have once you grow old she added, it's the foundation of happiness she ended._

_"And if there's no love? Can you still build happiness?"_

_"I don't know, sweety. And I hope you won't know too."_

《Song Inspiration: the cut that always bleed by conan gray》


End file.
